


Honey All Around Us

by fitofpique



Category: Lord of the Rings RPF
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2005-12-15
Updated: 2005-12-15
Packaged: 2017-11-04 01:42:15
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,505
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/388272
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/fitofpique/pseuds/fitofpique
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>How could Billy ever say no to Dom?</p>
            </blockquote>





	Honey All Around Us

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you to pippinmctaggart for the beta!

Billy shoves his hands in his pockets and rocks back on his heels, staring with polite interest at the painting on the wall in front of him. He has no idea what it is, but that’s pretty much par for the course at one of Viggo’s shows. He tilts his head to the side and scrutinizes the lilac and orange smear in the centre of the canvas, but that doesn’t make things any clearer. He steps closer and inspects a raised blob in the lower right corner, the colour and size of an egg yolk, but it refuses to reveal its secrets. It might actually be an egg yolk, for all Billy knows, and he muses on that, trying to decide what he’ll say when Dom asks, because Dom _will_ ask. 

The room is crowded and noisy, people talking and laughing, glasses clinking, and Billy’s thinking so intently that Dom’s voice in his ear startles him, makes him jump. “What d’you think it means?” he asks, and his voice, his tone of bemusement, is low enough that only Billy can hear.

Billy turns and his cheek touches Dom’s nose. “You first,” he says.

Dom strokes his chin for a moment, staring at the canvas, and then nods. “Well, it seems painfully clear to me that this painting is an indictment of the phallogocentrism of the Western gaze as regards art produced in a non-European social, political, or religious context and, particularly, its tendency to generate binary oppositions such as the so-called impure arts, namely industrial or decorative, versus purely ascetic or high art.”

Billy turns to stare at Dom, his mouth agape. “That’s rubbish! What are you on about?”

“You’re just pissed because you know you can’t compete! Admit it, Bill.” Dom smiles widely at him. 

Billy laughs and shakes his head. “How the fuck did you come up with that?” 

Dom smirks and inches even closer, threading a finger through Billy’s belt loop and tugging him back so they’re pressed tightly together. He rests his chin on Billy’s shoulder. “I read an art magazine while I was waiting for a meeting the other day. I think it’s safe to say that victory is mine.”

“Does that mean you’re not interested in hearing me wax poetic about how this painting provides a commentary on the interplay of feminism, fertility and language in the cultural identity of the indigenous Penan tribes of Borneo?” Billy asks.

“I’d love to hear you talk shite any other time, Billy, but right now I’m interested in talking about the spoils of my victory.”

“Is that so?” Billy asks.

“Oh, yes,” Dom whispers, moving forward and subtly grinding his hips against Billy’s arse. And the feeling of Dom, warm and heavy against his back, is so familiar, such a visceral reminder of what usually happens when they find themselves in this position, that Billy can’t help his Pavlovian response – he shivers and grinds back. Dom laughs. “You’re so easy, Boyd.” 

“Bastard,” Billy says, lifting his shoulder to bump Dom’s chin. “Get off.” 

Dom doesn’t. He nudges closer, brushes a kiss behind Billy’s ear. “You love it,” he says, and Billy can’t argue with him. He does love it.

A solemn-faced girl eases her way gracefully through the crowd with a heavy tray of drinks. She smiles and ducks her head when Dom winks at her, says, “Thank you, darling,” and accepts two glasses of red wine, handing one to Billy. 

Billy takes a small sip. It’s his fourth glass – or is it his fifth? – since they arrived at the gallery and he’s starting to feel it. A pleasant heaviness tingling vaguely in his arms and legs and head, lovely warmth pooling in his belly, something hard poking him rhythmically in the arse– 

“Dom!” he scolds. “Would you try and control yourself?”

“I can’t,” Dom replies, twisting his hips and rubbing his hard-on against Billy’s arse. “I want you, Billy. Want to do such things to you. Want to take you home, get you naked, get you hard, spread you out on the bed and taste every inch of you. Want to make you beg for my cock in your arse and my hands on your prick, want to fuck you ‘til we both come so hard we see stars. Let’s go home, Billy. Now, please.” 

And suddenly Billy’s oblivious to every other person in the room. Dom’s words are like honey running down his back, so sweet, so tempting, and it’s driving him mad that he can’t reach around to lick them up. 

“Yeah, fuck yeah. Anything you want,” Billy says, grabbing Dom’s hand and dragging him toward the coat check. 

How could he ever say no to Dom?

:::

"No," he says firmly, or as firmly as he can manage in his current state. "Absolutely not.”

“Why not?” Dom asks, picking at the knot in his scarf, his fingers slow and clumsy.

Billy wrinkles his nose. “It doesn’t appeal, Dom.”

“But why not?” Dom repeats, whooshing Billy’s belt through the loops of his jeans and tossing it carelessly toward the bureau. It hits the edge of the dresser with a clank then slithers to floor.

He huffs in frustration. “What are you, a broken record? I just ... I don't want to.”

Dom starts to work at Billy’s buttons, brow furrowed in concentration, tongue poking out and touching the corner of his mouth. He pops the last one through and pushes Billy's shirt off his shoulders. "But Billy," he says in a wheedling tone, lowering his eyes to the waistband of Billy's trousers, his long lashes trembling, " _I_ want to." 

"And do you always get everything you want?" Billy asks, flicking open the buttons at his wrists and covering Dom's fingers with his own, stilling them.

He looks up, eyes gleaming, a small smile on his lips. "I usually do, Bill."

It’s true. Billy sighs. "But it's so messy," he says, and wrinkles his nose. "You know I hate being sticky."

"Not always, you don't," Dom smirks. 

“But that’s different! And it _should_ be different. The two kinds of sticky should never ... intermingle,” he finishes lamely, scowling when Dom giggles drunkenly. “Fuck off, you cunt.”

“Hey!” Dom says, unbuttoning Billy’s trousers. “There’s no need to be a prick. You know I love that you’re prissy.” 

Billy pushes him away. "I am not prissy!" he objects hotly.

Dom just grins and steps forward, hands returning unerringly to Billy’s waist, where they start to work his trousers and pants off. “Prim?” Dom offers. 

“The fact that I don’t want you licking whipped cream off my private parts does not make me prim, Dominic. It makes me–"

“Fastidious?”

“ _Shut_ it! I was going to say hygienic.” 

“But I’m _hungry_ ,” Dom whines. “And also very, very, _very_ horny.” He pushes at Billy’s trousers until gravity takes over and they crumple to the floor. He holds them down with his foot so Billy can step out of them and reaches out, cradling Billy’s balls in one warm hand and wrapping the other snugly around his prick. “Don’t make me choose.”

Billy sighs as he starts to rise to the occasion, hardening under Dom’s gentle touch. “I need another drink first,” he says. He’s not quite resigned to his fate, but it looks as though he’s heading that way.

“Yes!” Dom says, squeezing Billy’s prick enthusiastically as he steers him toward the bed. The back of Billy’s knees hit the mattress and Dom gives him a little shove, sending him sprawling onto the pristinely made bed.

“Are these clean sheets?” he asks.

“Just relax, Bill,” Dom says, backing out of the room, “We can change them again after.”

Billy lies on the bed and tries to take Dom’s advice. He wraps his fingers around his prick and strokes it firmly, trying not to think about what all the noise from the kitchen might foretell. It even works for a minute, until he starts to think about honey and chocolate sauce and every other sticky thing that he’s never wanted anywhere near his prick or, God forbid, his arse. He feels himself starting to go soft and sighs. He doesn’t want to do this.

But how can he get out of it?

Maybe he could distract Dom. But the only surefire way to distract Dom once he’s set on something is with sex, and in this instance (and this instance only, Billy hopes) that isn’t likely to work. Or is it?

Maybe if Billy can get Dom worked up really quickly, he’ll forget all about eating raspberry jam off Billy’s nipples and want to jump right to the fucking. In fact, if Billy knows Dom, and he’s quite confident that he does, it shouldn’t be too difficult to push all thoughts of eating maraschino cherries from Billy’s navel right out of Dom’s head. Not if he plays his cards right. And he will. After all, he’s learned from the master. 

Billy starts to move his hand again, slowly squeezing his prick, and thinking about all the lovely ways that Dom’s distracted him in the past. Wanton, shameless Dom, who always knows just what to do to make Billy forget whatever petty argument they’re having and focus on sex – something they rarely disagree on. 

And _now_ Billy can relax.

A few firm strokes and he’s completely hard again. He lifts his hips so he can really fuck his fist and closes his eyes, pinches his nipples with his free hand.

“Started without me, did you?” Dom asks, and Billy’s eyes flutter open. He doesn’t let go of his dick, but he stops moving his hands and keeps his arse on the bed. “No, don’t stop,” Dom says in a low voice, “God, you’re fucking hot.” He sets a bottle of whisky and two glasses on the dresser and then adjusts his erection, all without taking his eyes off Billy. “Fuck,” he groans, squeezing himself through his trousers, “gimme ten seconds,” and then he darts out of the bedroom again.

Billy spreads his legs and reaches down to cup his balls, rolling and squeezing them as he gives a long twisting stroke to his cock. He digs his heels into the bed and arches his back, jerks his hips up, shoving his cock through his fist roughly and letting his fingers slip back to stroke and press on the smooth skin behind his balls. 

There’s a gasp and Billy’s eyes fly open to take in Dom standing the bedroom door, mouth open, hands full of bottles and tubes and a banana and who knows whatall and oh God: it’s time to break out the big guns. Billy pulls himself up into a sitting position and then rises to his knees, facing the doorway, eyes locked on Dom’s, and rubs his thumb and forefinger slowly over the head of his cock to collect the moisture there. Dom stares at him, completely still except for his mouth, which drops open when Billy reaches behind himself and pushes a finger inside. 

“Jesus _Christ_ , Billy,” Dom says. He walks quickly over to the dresser, drops his burden with a clatter and starts to strip quickly and efficiently.

“I want you to fuck me,” Billy says, when Dom is fully naked. “Do you want me to get myself ready?” 

Dom swallows, his Adam’s apple bobbing visibly in his throat, then nods and starts to climb onto the bed. 

Billy shakes his head. “No,” he says. “I want to … I want you to watch. Want your eyes on me, Dom.” Dom’s eyes go dark and Billy flushes with pleasure. He gestures at the arm chair sitting at an angle to the foot of the bed. “All right?”

Dom collapses into the chair and wraps his hand around himself, slowly stroking his cock. “’S much better than all right. You’re so–” he groans and shudders visibly, “God, Billy, want you so much.”

Bill unhands himself, reluctantly, and opens the drawer of the bedside table to find the lube. He pops the cap and drizzles a little puddle of slick into his cupped hand, rubs his palms together, and then wraps one hand around his cock, groaning with relief at the renewed pressure. He strokes himself slowly, matching his pace to the rhythm of Dom’s hand on himself. “What now, Dom?” he asks, breathlessly. 

Dom stares hungrily at Billy’s hand on his cock, licking his lips. “Fuck yourself with your finger again,” he says, “but turn around so I can see.”

Billy does what he’s told, turning enough that Dom can see but not so much that he can’t see Dom. He reaches behind himself again and presses his slippery index finger into his arse, humming to himself, relishing Dom’s groan of pleasure. He thrusts his finger in and out, setting a rhythm that’s a counterpoint to the one he’s keeping on his cock. 

“Another finger,” Dom demands, stroking his cock harder and faster. 

Billy squeezes a second finger in alongside the first, swaying slightly on his knees. He’s burning up suddenly, his whole body sheened with sweat, everything hot and slippery and simple, but no less urgent for all that. Out of the corner of his eye, he can see that Dom has draped one leg over the arm of the chair and is working his hand fast between his widespread thighs, and something about the play of muscles in his forearm sends a fierce surge of need through Billy. He’s off the bed and kneeling in front of the chair before he even has time to make a conscious decision to get Dom’s cock in his mouth. 

He skims his hands up the inside of Dom’s thighs and over his belly, grasps his sharp hipbones and takes Dom into his mouth in one wet, desperate motion.

“Yes!” Dom shouts, his voice shocked and strangled, his fingers digging into the arms of the chair, and Billy thinks _yes, always yes,_ but also _more_ and _now_ and, less coherently, _fuck_.

He slicks Dom as well as he can with spit and what’s left of the lube on his palms, and then he surges up and over him, surprised at his own grace when (this time) he straddles Dom without kneeing him in the chin or getting kicked in the balls. He manages to sink onto Dom’s cock with no injury at all to either of them. A victory.

He means to go slow, to tease, to tantalize, but what happens is more akin to setting a lit match to a very short fuse – it takes a moment to catch, the flame quivering in the stillness, but then it flares, races, coils through them, leaps savagely, and bursts, a flash of heat and brilliance and then–

He collapses, rests his forehead on Dom’s heaving chest. Pleasure thuds through him, pours over him, over both of them, he thinks, heavy and thick and stickysweet.

“Honey,” he mumbles, against Dom’s skin.

“Yes, darling?” Dom says, lips brushing the top of Billy’s head.

Billy licks Dom’s collarbone and laughs when his stomach growls.


End file.
